


Unspoken

by lori (zakhad)



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>soliloquy by the captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

I remember the first time I saw you. I was so certain we would be together, before I even knew your name. Sitting there in the restaurant with your glass dangling from your fingers, watching a pair of young lovers go by with a happy smile of your own, and not a care in the world.

Then, before I could excuse myself for a moment to come over, Jack grabbed my arm and dragged me over. His fiancee.

I wished there were a way to take apart the universe and put it back together my way. But, as we know, that isn't our prerogative.

We became good friends. I enjoyed that, in time. At first it was a near-impossible task -- I felt like Atlas carrying the world on my shoulders at times, keeping those feelings that would not go away hidden behind my facade of platonic affection.

Along came the baby, and then there were more missions and fewer times I could get away to come back with Jack, and it was what it was. No less friends, but the distance and the time did its work.

Then I brought him back to you that final time. I wanted to take you in my arms and comfort you -- I knew that behind your mask of composure, you grieved more deeply than words or tears could say. I knew, because I had grieved the loss of you that way, and as we stood over Jack's cold body in the morgue I knew that I could never hold you.

That was all right. I wanted only to be friends -- I was a captain. There was no room in my life for you, or anyone else. So I held you as a friend would, with words and gentle hand-clasping, a quick hug at the door, and I left you there with Wesley.

I was uncomfortable to have you aboard the *Enterprise* but we were friends, and aside from a few weak moments in which the old feelings came to the surface, we remained so. I could tolerate your gentle teasing about Vash. You could talk about your encounters with various lovers. We worked together and made remarks about how ridiculous it was that Will and Deanna never got together.

And I'm so sorry about Kes-Prytt -- I should have had more self-control than that. You were right, it was something to fear. Because it probably would have ruined the friendship, and I have so few friends these days. Starfleet, you know. So many of our contemporaries are dead now. So many people lost to the uncertainties of space exploration.

I didn't want to lose you, Beverly. Not you. I could bear losing so many others, but I never wanted to lose you.

I hope you'll understand then why I left the *Enterprise.* I hope you can forgive me, but it wasn't the same with you gone.

Will's doing fine with her now. Though we talk often, there are a lot of things we don't talk about. We don't reminisce much. He never mentions Deanna, I can understand that best of all. Her loss hit all of us hard. I think he looks back at the years and hates himself for not confessing how he felt about her.

I'm positive he does, actually. It makes me wonder if his wife knows much about his past.

The vineyards are doing well. That last fellow I hired to help out, the one I mentioned before -- the one with the pretty redheaded wife who came to help him? I had to let him go. It was pointless. I may as well have simply done the job myself as spend all that time walking them through things. I miss the days of having officers who got all their training at the Academy, who needed only polish. Very different in the public sector. Especially in Labarre, where everything is so backward.

I often wish I'd brought you to see the house and the vineyards. You would have loved the hominess of it. It's very peaceful here. I often sit on the lawn listening to the crickets late into the evening. The stars come out, and it reminds me of nights walking in San Francisco, with you and Jack. When we were indestructible and eternal, when the universe was a wonderful place, full of adventure and mystery.

How that changed, when the war came. How it all changes as we repeat the cycles carried out by generation after generation, of destruction and renewal and repentance. How tired you would look after yet another battle in the Dominion War when you would stop in late at night and we would sit together talking about anything but the bodies you'd just tried to reassemble in sickbay.

How it changed, when Will brought you back from that final away mission. I saw it in his eyes -- I knew how he felt. He felt the same as I, the day I brought Jack back to you. But it was different, of course, because you were just a dear friend -- I hope you don't think that means I didn't grieve.

You are still my dearest friend, Beverly. And I never wanted anything to happen to that friendship -- I wanted to see you at breakfast and sit down to tea in the afternoons, and work with you until we both retired.

Will tells me your replacement isn't your equal. Really, you'd think he would know he doesn't have to say it. No one could be.

The stars are beautiful tonight, don't you think? I brought you your favorites, the roses that grow near the porch up at the house.

I thought about taking you to Caldos, so you could be with your grandmother. Or putting you with Jack, in San Francisco. But I remembered this place, here in the dell just over the hill from the vineyards, and it seemed perfect -- there are so many wildflowers here in the spring and you can hear the bells of the sheep in the distance, from the neighbor's farm. It's quiet and just the sort of spot you would hunt for, to sit and read on leave.

I knew you would understand. You always have, Beverly. We always understood each other so well.


End file.
